Heaven From Hell
by lucis rouge
Summary: Prequel to Bask in the Shadow: Draco should have been more careful with his heart, Harry should have listened, Lucius should have trusted his son. Warnings: HPDM, M-Preg mentioned, Mental instability, Temporary character death.
1. A Mere Fraction

**A/N:**

**Thank you for taking the time to consider reading this story. I hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm a feedback nut, so any comments - good or bad - will be happy received and taken on board. This chapter has been revised slightly to bring the style a little more in line with the rest of the story and the sequel, but I assure anyone who read the original version: the plot implications of this version are the same.  
**

**Warnings:**

**HPDM, temporary character death, violence, strong language, and various other adult themes. I would recommend that you be of age in your resident country to read this story.**

**Disclaimer: **

**I don't own these characters or this world. These ramblings make me no profit.  
**

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"It's a trap you eejit!"

"Mr Malfoy, I can assure you-"

"I was talking to Harry, not you. Don't do this, stop and think for once in your bloody life! Please Harry, please don't do this" Draco begged.

"I don't have a choice."

"There's always a choice, you're just too hell bent on running out and getting yourself killed to see it. Do you really think I can't see you, Harry?

"Do you think I cant see the shadows behind your eyes? No one would ever guess it would they? You're strong, and good, and untainted: You can handle the chaos that they throw at you. And you do, by some god-awful feat, you do. They try their hardest to believe that it's your purity that conquers it. I know better.

"I've been there inside your head remember; For one blissful night I was a part of the turmoil that rages through your heart. I wanted to stay there; you wouldn't allow it. You snapped shut like some dusty old book, aged beyond your years with maltreatment. You just can't bring yourself to imagine that there might be a future for you after this damn war can you? All you care about is fulfilling your duty so that you can roll over and die in peace."

"Draco stop it, you've made your point," Harry's voice, though forceful, had a waver of fear beneath it.

Draco barely heard him over the sound of blood thrumming through his ears, "I used to be like that, used to ooze indifference to it all; What's the point in caring when no one actually gives a shit about you anyway? Well now I _have_ to pull through. I have to make it, for you. To pick you up after they've drained what they deem necessary of you, left you to rot, and gone back to their blissfully ignorant lives.

"I still can't believe you let me in. I know that what I saw was a mere fraction of the person you keep hidden. I know that you could never love me the way I do you, but for you, that minuscule grain of your soul means something. I've watched you shoot down everyone who's ever dared try to breach that outer shell of yours. Friends, mentors, potential lovers: they reached out to touch you and yelped back with third-degree burns.

"It makes me wonder what I was to you. I can't survive the thought that you still view me as an enemy, so I don't. I force it into the deepest pit of my mind and bury it.

"I've watched you, did you know that? For the past two years - since that night - I've studied your every move. I've felt your heart freeze over as if it were my own, and fought so hard to thaw it out. For you, for the day you let me close enough again to show you that it doesn't have to be this way. I was a fool; you've spent far to long building yourself into that self-inflicted prison to allow me to tear down the walls with some foreign romantic notion.

"In all the time I've observed you, I've only ever seen you falter once. A period so brief that few recognised it for what it was, and even fewer knew the reason behind it. It was pain. Self-hatred. An emotional seizure. And then it was gone, replaced once more by the daily façade that you fixatedly dress yourself in. But you broke that day, the earth shook for you and your heart shattered into a million more pieces than before.

"You looked at me for the briefest of moments when I came to see you, when I found out and needed to know if it was true. I saw it in your eyes and I couldn't breathe, everything inside me split open and I couldn't breathe.

"You refused to look at me after that, you walked away. I'm sure you imagined that I hated you, but I didn't, I don't. How were you to know? I know you didn't, you cant have, you would have stopped training if you did. You're cold, and determined, and driven, but you're not a murderer. How were you to know that you were carrying our child? How were you to know that the constant pressure you work under would result in our daughter never having the chance to be born?"

Harry's throat was dry, it stung with words that he couldn't let out.

"I wanted the world to stop that day, you did too, that much I know. But it didn't, I never does, and it makes me want to scream! You have to understand that it wasn't your fault. None of the crap that you see fit to encumber is. You're the best person I know, and they don't appreciate that. They don't see that it's the man underneath that deserves to be loved. Not the 'boy-who-lived', not the 'saviour-of-the-wizarding-world'. You, just you. I know you're too good for the world that I'm asking - begging - you to share with me. And so I trundle on, watching you as you place yet more barricades around your heart. Starving it of what we both know it craves. All because you insist on setting the needs of strangers before your own.

"Why destroy yourself for people who constantly and consistently lie to you? Who deprive you of knowing what it is to be loved? Why take orders from the man who robbed you of a childhood? I know what went on, Severus told me, he saw it in your head. Albus did that to you and yet you stand there and dotingly live up to the 'golden-boy' image that he's moulded for you, through deception: By covering your eyes to the man you could have been, the man you still can be.

"It's funny, the man that's fought so hard to preserve your innocence all these years is the one who's driven you into oblivion - turned your insides black by shutting out the light that you needed to be yourself.

"I know you think if you don't do this the guilt will plague you for the rest of your life. As if you didn't have enough scar tissue by now… And if you fight, he will fall, because you've been disciplined to win, drilled into the warrior you are after years of schooled submission."

Draco finally addressed the rest of the room and beseeched them, "But is the cost really something you're willing to let him bear? He won't have to live with those consequences, but can you?"

"Draco, stop it." Harry pleaded.

Draco's voice was weary and the knew from the guilt etched faces around him that he'd lost this battle, "If I could stop loving you I would, but I can't. I don't expect you to return the sentiment, after all that's happened I don't think you're even capable of that. But you should know, that years from now, decades, centuries - when we both live other lives, in other worlds - I will love you with the same ferocity that I do now. Maybe one day, you'll come home to me. Maybe one day you'll let me give you what you gave me."

The heavy oak door slammed behind him as he left. A resounding crack was heard as Harry's knuckles slammed into a hard, stone wall, and he slid to the floor in new-found desperation.

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**A/N:**

**I'm truly humbled that you've taken the time to read this. Please let me know what you think.  
**

**x X x**

**'Rora**


	2. Remnants of Spine

**I dont own, JK is God, Slash, etc etc etc, blah blah blah.** _On with the show..._

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He didn't know what he was doing anymore; he found it hard to see through the incandescent fuzz that distorted his previously corrected vision. He was lost- oh he knew exactly where he was, but he also knew that all sentient thought had left him, and he was lost. Responsibilities attempted, as always, to claw his feet to the ground; but for once, he didn't surrender to the weight, the pressure.

This wasn't a conscious decision, the last thing he could bare to comprehend was letting down those who relied so heavily upon him. No, the fact was that his inability to think clearly had taken over. So now he was walking, purposefully, yet involuntarily, towards the west tower of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Eleven hours, thirty-six minutes, and… forty two seconds. That's how long he had lasted.

He knew he shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be so self-centred. This wasn't about what **he** wanted. It was about the thousands of people - magical and muggle - who would die at the hands of a mad man if **he** slipped up. He couldn't hew that onto his conscience, the guilt would gnaw away at his soul if he did; in that aspect Draco had been right. Hell, in almost every aspect, Draco had been right. Harry could only assume that this was the reason his feet had carried him to his chamber door.

_'What am I doing, I can't do this! How many times have I found myself outside this door? Hoping, praying, that with some timely 'sixth-sense' Draco will rush out and flounce me up from my feet.'_

In the past, he had never allowed himself to knock on the foreboding entrance. He knew that if he did, if he was faced with those eyes, he'd forget everything; he'd disregard the person he was obligated to be, for the one who got to sleep intertwined with the man just behind that blasted door.

_'Two years of constant composure, two years of constant ice, and you can shatter it all in the space of a ten minute tirade Draco! Do you even know the effect you have on me? Do you realize how much I want to let these thoughts 'inadvertently' fall off of my tongue in your presence?_

_'I watched you too, never for long; it would have been impossible to maintain indifference if I had permitted myself to get lost in your eyes, your hands, your neck, your hips, your shoulders, your everything, the whole of you. You tug on your left earlobe when you're daydreaming, did you notice? And you grip your fingers into your hip when you're uneasy._

_'I am capable of loving you Draco, I'm just not capable of being with you. It's too complicated, and you were right, I don't want to have stay on this god-forsaken earth after the war. Despite everything I feel for you, I'll never be able to erase the pain that I've incurred from the past._

_'So if I do… expire, then I need to explain before I miss the opportunity. I owe you that much for teaching me to feel, for showing me that I was proficient enough to love another. I need to ensure that your last memory of me is not of a cold, uncaring machine. I need you to know what's going on in my head - apart from a particularly disquieting conversation with myself.'_

And so, Harry did the unthinkable, he knocked, albeit quietly, and waited. He soon realised that he might wait forever, five minutes had passed, and nothing. Cautiously, tensely, he reached out to the door-handle. He applied a slight pressure and found it to be unlocked. He brought the lever to it's floor, and slowly scraped the door open.

"Draco?"

He could make out the sound of water running now that he had invaded Draco's home. Having never been inside these chambers he didn't know where the sound originated. An educated guess told him, that seeing as people - the living kind - hadn't yet mastered how to walk through walls, the bathroom was probably behind the only subsequent door in the quarters. So once more, he prepared to knock. He wasn't given the chance.

Neither party moved, both petrified of breaking the momentary spell that had blanketed over them. They were so close, intolerably close. Harry could feel the moisture evaporating off of Draco's upper half, could see the steam rising up in rippled clouds, and thanked the god of terry-towel for sparing him the whole picture. He also noticed a distinctly inflamed colouring around the metallic rims of Draco's eyes. He'd been crying, and the thought of that scraped at Harry's insides: he was about to cause more tears, provided he relocated his backbone in time.

Always a Malfoy, Draco was the first to escape the trance:

"Harry, I know I got a tad out of hand earlier, and I'm sorry for pissing Albus off with what I said, but I don't think it was completely necessary to break into my-"

Harry had snapped, he leapt forward, treading the remnants of his spine into the plush navy carpet, and captured the other in a frantic kiss. Had he not, he would have died. His lungs would have called a union strike, and his heart would have stopped beating. So, you see, it really couldn't be avoided. What good was he to anyone if he were already dead? _'Then again, it could be the fact that I'm a gutless moron, with a willpower count that extends FAR into negative figures…'_

"Harry..."

"No Draco, No," Harry stepped back firmly, fear and determination fighting on his face.

"Then why the fuck are you here!"

"Draco, I love you. I feel like some part of me is bound to you. I can feel it searing me open whenever I think about you, whenever I see you, whenever I touch you. It's like my soul is fighting to get back to yours; and I see all I've ever wanted, needed, in you… But I can't. I just can't. Please understand. I don't want to hurt you, I wish more than anything that this, us, could work. I wish that I slept in your bed, that you wore my ring on your finger, that our baby-"

Draco turned away from the words, bowed his head, clawed his nails over his scalp.

"I leave tomorrow, and there's every possibility that this is it, the big one. You know as well as I do that I've never intended on making it through. There is every chance that the exertion of destroying _that man_, will take me out of this world alongside him. I cant do anything about that, if it happens, it happens. If I do manage to make it back… It'll be to you."

This in itself was a split-second decision. Draco turned to face him sharply. Harry hadn't intended on saying this, in fact nothing about this encounter was going as planned; but the intensity of his attachment to Draco seemed to grow with every minute he remained in his presence. In keeping with the tone of the evening, he resolved to do something equally shocking. He coiled his two fore fingers around the chain on his neck, and pulled, hard. Taking the unknown trinket in a loose closed fist, he hovered his hand above Draco's, and flattened his palm over the others. Without lifting it, and thus revealing what hid underneath, he spoke.

"I'm not afraid of death, but I don't want to leave a world that shows no recognition to the man I love, when -if- I die. If the worst happens, you shouldn't have to shy away from sorrow like some other meaningless stranger. If -when- I get back, I want to be your husband, I want to have your children, I want to let myself love you. Goodbye Draco"

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**A/N: **

**Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews. You lot make my day, honestly.**

**Any thoughts are most welcome so please review.**


	3. The Thief

Disclaimer: It wasn't me officer...

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"I remember the day you left.

"I remember... the smell of breakfast kippers forking up from the kitchens. I remember using my hay fever as a - very poor - excuse for numbing my brain with a variety of drowse inducing potions. I remember scaring the shit out a pair of loved-up Hufflepuffs with my inflamed temper. If I were in a softer mental ambience, I'd have that look about now. The one you hate. You said it made me look like a malevolent, malformed rabbit. I didn't really understand why at that point, but those words itched on my last nerve.

"I guess I hated you thinking I was anything prior to perfection. I thought if you realized how beneath you I was, you wouldn't grant me the time of day. I felt guilty, as though I was conning you into my bed. You said I was a moron; I felt better.

"That word makes no sense to me anymore. Better? It's foreign and wrong. They persistently ask me that. Better? And squint at my three heads in confusion when I ask what it means. If apathy ever releases me from my bed and chains, I might take a swing at one of the bastards.

"I'm so far from comprehension right now. So far from ever being anything other than gone. In my mind, I'm not really here. I'm not standing in this awful place holding a one-sided conversation with a man so idiotic, he's rendered himself completely unattainable.

"Is it wrong to hope, to believe even, that one day you'll be with me again? Do you think It's foolish? Would you have me move on? Find some nice little blond pureblood? Have lots of obedient little blond children, and top it off with a ridiculous amount of gold in the bank? It would restore the natural order I'm sure, But that doesn't mean it's going to happen Harry.

"Harry...

"How can a name cause so much pain? I feel like laughing and crying and screaming all at once. I feel maddened by the disorder in my head. Nothing's certain. The rain in my hair, the mud on my boots, the stone before my eyes: None of it is actually happening. All I know, all I ever want or need to know, is that you'll come back to me, one day.

"But right now, in this scathing hell you've thrown me to, the only graces left to me are the passing voids which shield your light from the world. How distastefully you, to shine down on this mass exultation - your rightful accolade - without tears, without breath. A martyr to those who applaud your 'glorious' victory politely and turn back to their pathetically, pointlessly, pleasant lives.

"I yearn to despise you, to loathe and abhor you. You: the thief of my aspirations, of the life I should have. How dare you? How could you? How could you leave after everything you said? Don't you know that I'm nothing without you? You're selfish. Life was expendable to you, and you didn't deserve it. If it was in my power to drag you back out of that god-forsaken ditch and strangle new-found breath back out of your lungs I would. Can you hear me up there you self-centered brat? I HATE you, understand?

"No, I doubt you do. You know me far too well to listen to any detrimental remarks I might assemble in your wake. You know I'm cursed to love you, and live out this life without you. I can almost hear your little speech regarding acceptance and renewal in my ear. But I'm not like the others, I wont move on, don't even try it. I'll stay here until you come back to me Harry, I don't care how long it takes.

"And as the morning rain carries away the dew of the night's sorrow, as the ancient oaks of our land lay low their bows, as the ground splits along fiery seams to avenge your ungrateful patrons, I will watch, and laugh.

"The earth mourned you, the world did not. I wish them desolation, poverty and destruction: A slight of hand by Hades' justice… Because I am alone. You swept away from me one last time, found your peace in the sky as you always intended, and left love without flight as a cold mist around my chest."

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This is normally the point where I'm _supposed_ to jump up and down and assure you that I'll bring Harry miraculously back from the dead, and all will live happily ever after so long as you promise not to viciously maim me with assorted pitch-forks...

Okay, I wasn't going to but I will, I'm not that cruel, hang in there with me and I promise you wont regret it :)

x X x

'Rora


	4. A Life Deemed More Worthy

"You realise of course that you can't stay here,"

"Can't I?"

"No, you can't,"

The man allowed this thought to echo through his soul. It was cold in this place, his fingers, his brain, his heart, all frozen in time. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay, to obey the promise he'd made to his heart, long ago.

"The frost creeping through your body is killing you, you internal organs are shutting down, one by one,"

"I know,"

"No, I don't think you do. You're dying, you are going to die, you arrogant little whelp."

"I died long ago Severus," and it was true. He could no longer remember anything other than this, no longer comprehend what his life could have been. His only wish was to lie in this place until the world faded around him.

"It's too late for me now,"

"A coward's response! You can still go back, still make a life for yourself, still live!"

"Perhaps I don't want to live!"

"You and I both know that that's a lie! You've done some selfish things in your life, but this-"

"Selfish! You have the cheek to call **me** selfish!? Did you ever consider for one moment that I might be afraid? That the thought of going back there riddles me with sheer terror? I don't know who I am anymore!"

"You are a man who has the chance to be re-born! A chance to start a new life! And you're throwing it away!"

"I don't deserve a new life! Everything I touch crumbles at my fingertips, and the only person I ever loved is in pieces!"

Tears should have shone down the man's face, but none would come. For so long he had dreamt of this, the opportunity to be at peace, to rest, to finally cease. Severus was wrong, no good could come from his return. He was damaged, the world was better off without his taint.

And yet, inside he held the darkest truth.

"He's in pieces because of me, because of my cowardice, my fear. But how can I return there? To a world that has raped from me everything I adore. I don't even know if I can be everything he wants, needs from me. Why should he have to settle for me? He should be with someone who can give him everything he deserves,"

"And who are you to decide what Draco wants, Harry? He doesn't want anyone or anything else, not even his own life. All he wants is you. The world cant expect much more from you than you've already given. That is not to say that it will not ask, but you would be more than justified in your refusal."

"You think this is really possible? You think I can just walk away from death?"

"Death is a process. As those who morn you accept your fate, you will fade, the cold encompassing your body is part of this process."

"Does it always take this long?"

"It is not common, but is known. You haven't passed over completely because Draco refuses to accept that you are truly gone. So long as this is true, you are able to cross back over"

"If it were that simple to cheat death, then everyone would do it,"

"At no point did I say that it was simple, Harry, and at no point did I infer that this sole point would allow you life again. The time given to us as _others_ accept our fate, allows _us_ to accept our fate. You can choose whether to accept death and cross over, or fight death and return to the world."

"You mean as a ghost? What good could that possibly achieve?"

"No, not as a ghost, you're too far gone for that by this point. But you can still connect with the world. Think of Draco, allow your minds eye to show you what is veritable"

The man thought of all that resided in his heart, all that he longed for, and slowly, to a degree almost painful to him, the mist encompassing him began to slip away. All around him, silence resounded. Nothing moved, no sentience presented itself as the man searched the landscape. It was a depressing place really. Cold, dank, lifeless. A cemetery, though one unknown to him. In the distance a great garish tomb stood out against the sea of dilapidated stone. The man found it tasteless, a testament to money and frivolity, as though the death of one man was more important than that of all the others in this place. Still, something drew him to it, and his instincts usually proved sound. As he made his way closer he found himself wondering how he had been buried, where. He wanted to be laid to rest near his parents in Godric's Hollow, it was only right that his legacy finished there, where it had begun, eons ago. And then he saw the other man, the one he had sought out. He was unmoving, crumpled in front of the tomb, his face ashen, and his eyes unseeing.

"Draco,"

But man did not stir. Harry knelt down beside the derelict male, whose hand and face were covered in blood and dirt, whose hair was matted, and clothes were repellent. His heart was destroyed by this sight, he had done this, it was his fault that the beautiful man he remembered had done this to himself. He understood now, that the monstrosity that stood in this place, the great monument to a life deemed more worthy than the countless others, was his monument, his monstrosity. This thought sparked more fury in him than he had thought was still possible, and as he aggressed at the world for its stupidity, he felt the ground around him tremor slightly.

This time the distraught figure took notice. He jerked his head in a sudden and forgotten motion, one that surprised even him. He blinked, looking around slowly, intently. He knew not that the was staring straight through the very thing he was searching for. Harry knew that this was the best chance he would have. He focused once more on the pale blue depths that had always entrapped him in the past, and he knew that this time, he would be heard.

"I'm coming back to you Draco, I'll find a way."

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Well, this might be riddled with mistakes, I can't see any, but then I'm very tired. All I can do is apologise if there are.

I'm not sure if it's any good, let me know?


	5. Inhuman Altogether

**Disclaimer: I don't own**

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Flustered, tangled awkwardly around his own robes, running through corridors with a reckless need that was usually reserved for far more vital circumstances in this place. But his client was a man who wouldn't tolerate the insult of tardiness. He stopped short of the last corner, slumped against the wall there, drawing breath into his lungs like a sedative. He dared glance at the watch clipped to his breast pocket: 07.58AM, 2 minutes, saved! With an exhausted hint of laughter he pushed himself off the wall, brushed himself down, and turned that last corner confidently.

"Mr Malfoy, it's a pleasure to see you again,"

"Given the circumstances which bring me to you I can't say the same,"

The man sobered, "No change?"

"No change." The man looked tired and his tone was irritable, "I'd rather not broadcast my family's affairs to every witch, wizard, and elf in St Mungos, Healer Frost, shall we head to your office?"

"Of course Mr Malfoy, right this way," he inwardly cursed himself for his own stupidity and led the grim faced man along the corridor. Raw screams erupted violently and were everywhere at once: strangled and enraged and inhuman altogether. The doors up ahead of the men burst wide with fire. The blaze hurtled toward them in fury and brought with it the smell of burning blood. Healers flanked it on all sides, their attempts to quell it seemingly futile. Healer Frost pushed them both flat against the wall as the bed of flames sped past.

"Poor bastard," an ashen faced mediwitch uttered as she passed, head shaking.

The men continued their journey through the hospital maze and – eventually – each took up a chair in the cluttered little office. Lucius was the first to speak:

"You're shaking Healer Frost,"

"I'm sorry Mr Malfoy, I've never seen anything like that, not even during the war," the man closed his eyes briefly and tried to shake the images of the burning man out of his mind's eye, "How is Draco?"

"Listless. He shows no improvement, no desire to snap himself out of this fantasy of his,"

"The voices?"

"The potions have kept them at bay for almost 3 years, he admits he can no longer hear or feel him, but he still refuses to believe that Potter is really gone. He just keeps reiterating that Potter made a promise and he won't break it. He won't be convinced that people can't make promises if they're already dead, and even if they could its ludicrous to hold them to it,"

Lucius closed his eyes and in that moment looked more weary than foreboding, "it seems we've tried everything and nothing helps, all it's amounted to is his resentment of me for forcing vile concoctions down his throat morning, noon, and night. I'm ashamed to admit that I'm losing hope Healer: This obsession is killing him and he doesn't want to be saved. The only times his faith falters are the ones where he's trying to hurt himself."

"Do you think he'll try again?"

"I know he will,"

"Mr Malfoy, perhaps," the Healer hesitated, "perhaps it would be prudent to reconsider certain options?"

"I'd hoped it wouldn't come to this," Lucius stared at his hands, tracing the lines like strands of misery.

"He needs 24 hour care, he needs professional help, and he'll get that at the Pinewood Centre Mr Malfoy. They have an excellent reputation,"

"I know that - I went to see it for myself," Lucius drew a deep breath and looked Healer Frost in the face, "Make arrangements for us to come on Monday morning, 11 o'clock,"

"I will. I'll walk you out Mr Malfoy,"

The two men ghosted back through the corridors at a sombre pace.

"I wonder what became of that wretched sole," Lucius said to no one in particular. A passing healer caught it and replied:

"They're still working on him, if it is a him... its barely recognizable as human,"

"Don't they know who it is? Where did he come from?"

"They don't, no. Flooed in direct from the Ministry, and they're being very secretive about the whole thing. The rumor is..." the healer dropped his voice in a hush of presumed scandal and with a furtive glance around them, continued "there was an accident in the Department of Mysteries."

Lucius nodded with a fatigued degree of interest, in truth his thoughts were still with his son.

"Shall we Frost?" A request, not a question. Lucius needed to leave this place; the memories had started to claw at his lungs. Too many times he'd had to bring his son to this place, paced the halls, intimidated the healers. Too many times had he hidden his fears behind anger.

Healer Frost nodded obediently, turning to lead the way to the exit. Before they took their first step however, a dull explosion cracked the air and a small amount of smoke seemed to erupt from a bay up ahead. Within a split second, horrific screams began to splinter the air once more. Frost raised his voice as best he could in an effort to be heard over them, "I'm sorry Mr Malfoy, that bang, the silencing charms they must be using have broken, it's unlikely they'll be able to get them up again soon,"

"Let's get out of here before I lose the rest of my hearing Frost,"

"Yes Sir, of course."

They made their way back to the main doors at last.

"I'll be there to meet you on Monday Mr Malfoy, 11 O'clock sharp."

"Make sure you allow yourself enough time to get there Frost, I don't want you giving yourself some form of coronary episode, as you almost did this morning."

Healer Frost looked moderately afraid but oddly Lucius just looked bemused, at first. As his expression contorted to one of horror and confusion, the young healer was slow to realize that Lucius' attention was no longer directed toward him. The older man was white, staring open mouthed in the direction of the disembodied screeches.

"DRACO!"

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**Please R&R, all thoughts are welcome.**


	6. Scraped Flat

**Disclaimer: JK is god, I have nothing to sue for.**

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It seemed that his son's name was the only word the creature knew. Over and over and over; It made the blood scrape in Lucius' veins.

"Mr Malfoy, you cant be in here," scolded an outraged Healer, "we're trying to save this man's life!"

The flames quieted slightly, the screams died, and a hoarse voice hollowed out a single question: "Draco?"

"What do you want of my son!" Lucius accused.

The flames gave a ferocious burst and the healers vaulted back in fear. Just as soon as they had flared, however, the flames died completely.

"Quick, start casting, you there, Gibson, apply this salve," an elderly Healer ordered, Lucius assumed she was in charge.

"STOP!"

The figure on the bed had become draped in a bright green glow, and this light was deflecting the few charms which had just been cast toward it. For the briefest of moments everyone in the room dared to believe that the command had come from the rigid charred body that lay before them.

"I do not have the strength to hold this, so I will say this only once," with shock the onlookers realized that the booming voice was coming from their colleague, Healer Frost. He stood to the right of Lucius, having chased him anxiously to the scene. His body appeared stiff but for his head, which lolled back at a sickening angle.

"Stop attempting to heal me, it will not work, you must let me burn."

The elderly witch was the first to snap to action and words: "We cannot stand by and watch you burn to death!"

The response roared, quick, harsh, deafening: "Death cannot hold me! You must let the fire serve it's purpose: you must let me burn!"

The voice dropped low, "Lucius,"it rasped.

"What do you want with my son?" he breathed in fear of the answer.

"I will hunt. You. Down."

* * *

Many hours later, Lucius paced his drawing room replaying these words obsessively. At length he concluded that no further meaning could be garnered from them, they were the words of a mad man, clearly. But this was a mad man who bore a grudge towards him, worse still his son, and this disturbed Lucius greatly. Possibly he was some overzealous Auror who'd been driven demented by this freak Ministry accident. Demented enough to pursue him even though he'd been dropped of all charges after the war, and enough to harm Draco even though he'd been betrothed to their beloved little Martyr.

Draco had been as difficult as ever that afternoon. Hatred had seethed from him when Lucius had brought him his potions. He'd drank them, quietly, begrudgingly. The last few years had been scraped flat by anxiety and insomnia to the extent that Lucius couldn't pinpoint exactly when Draco had stopped fighting him, but he had nonetheless.

Lucius' feet absent-mindedly began their journey to his reception hall. As he entered he heard the heavy din of the manor's ancient brass knocker, twice, three times. He crossed the hall and reflexively opened the main door. He barely needed to look at the visitor to confirm who it was.

"Sharp as usual Mr Weasley."

The man bowed his head in acknowledgement.

"He's heavily sedated; I don't know how much sense you'll get out of him today."

"That doesn't matter, I want to see him anyway." Replied the red-headed man in the doorway stiffly.

Lucius gestured for him to enter and a house elf appeared to take his coat. Ron wondered why the house elves couldn't just answer the door as well.

"I heard you passed your auror exams, Mr Weasley, congratulations."

Ron looked up sharply, scrutinising his host.

"Where did you hear that? Its a cond-"

Lucius cut him off, "Mr Weasely, nobody has been feeding me insider information, it was in the Daily Prophet." He watched levelly as Ron composed himself.

"Thank you Mr Malfoy."

It was Lucius' turn to nod politely, and after doing so he turned briskly on his heal and led the way through the manor to Draco's room. Ron pushed the door open tentatively and entered without Lucius.

"Draco?" He ventured, approaching the bed that stood on the far side of the room. "It's just me again, come to see how you're doing this week."

He took up his usual chair and tried again, "Draco? Can you hear me?"

Draco rolled his head clumsily on his pillow to face the visitor. His eyes were glazed and unmoving but Ron made out a glimpse of recognition behind them.

"Oh mate," sighed the redhead. Draco blinked deliberately, and pulled in an audible breath. With a look of mustered concentration he lifted his hand from the bed; Ron took it.

"They're going to," Draco whispered, struggling to stay focused "they're going to put me in a home." Fear struck white across his face, as though saying the words aloud had made them hit home.

"Who is?"

"The Doctors. My Father. They think it'll stop me hurting myself."

"Will it?"

Draco brought his eyes to meet Ron's and communicated in them a look so fueled by misery that Ron wished he could turn away.

"If I'm crazy then I have no reason to live."

"I don't think you're crazy Draco, I think you're hurt. Harry wouldn't want you to suffer like this, he'd want you to live."

* * *

Draco had stopped talking after that. Stopped meeting his eyes, stopped even acknowledging his presence. Ron had returned home dejected.

"How was he?"

"He's in a really bad way Hermione, I don't know how to get through to him. Maybe-" Ron stalled, they'd had this conversation before and it never ended well. "Maybe if you spoke to him-"

"He's not Harry, Ron."

"I know that."

"Harry's gone. Stop trying to turn Draco into his replacement, its not fair to him and its not fair to Harry. Draco needs professional care, not empty words."

"Your words might be empty Mione, but I care about the guy, okay! Harry would have wanted us to help him!" Ron punctuated the anger in his voice by slamming the back door behind him with as much force as he could muster. As it slammed he heard a sickening crack and knew that this time he'd finally broken the frame.

* * *

**Please Review, all feedback is most welcome**.

**Some of you may have noticed that the story's title has changed. I've been considering doing this for a while, the original title suited the original one-shot but not the plot I'm now planning to take the story along. I hope this hasn't caused anyone any confusion.**


	7. Blind Fear

**Disclaimer: JK owns the world, I just plunder through it.**

* * *

"Mr Malfoy, thank Merlin you're here."

"Well this is my study Healer Frost, I'd be rather disturbed if someone else were here..."

If the young healer had had his wits about him he might just have noticed the dry humor that laced around Lucius' words. As it was he didn't, and hadn't.

"You look rather flustered Frost. Do you you care to explain why you've barged into my office? Without a prior appointment? On a Sunday evening?"

"I'm deeply sorry for the intrusion Mr Malfoy, but it couldn't wait until tomorrow morning, it's about Draco," the healer blurted.

Lucius raised an eyebrow in a look of expectation that achieved nothing.

"Well spit it out man," he prodded.

"I'm changing my recommendation Sir, I don't think Pinewood is the best place for Draco right now. I think he should stay here."

Lucius Malfoy sat up straight and narrowed his eyebrows in thought.

"I assume you have a reason for this change of heart Mr Frost?"

The healer nodded to his feet.

"Care to share it with me?"

"I can't Sir."

Lucius detected the inward struggle in the man's tone. "Sit," he commanded quietly, indicating the chair opposite him. He considered his guest for a long moment. As he stared into the healers eyes he saw a young witch reflected back to him.

_She was hunched low over a glazed melamine table.  
_

_"I know Saturdays are tough Jill but you look like you've been toe to toe with a troll."  
_

_"I've been assigned to the burning man all day,"_

_"Ah..."  
_

_ The witch glanced around nervously, "I heard he- he possessed you?"  
_

_"Yesterday. Not long after they brought him in."_

_The witch looked both dazed and terrified.  
_

_"It was horrible," she whispered to herself, looking up at him she added "he was horrible. His eyes are like slits filled with blood. His skin's turned from charcoal to," she hesitated, "well, its like... scales... grey-green scales..." she finished in disbelief.  
_

_"Has the burning stopped yet?"_

_"No, it comes and goes in fits. He seems to be getting stronger. At least he doesn't scream anymore..."_

Lucius pulled himself out of his guest's thoughts but continued to stare at him.

"That patient," he ventured slowly, "is he still in the hospital?"

Healer Frost looked down at his hands.

"The ministry have commissioned an order of silence on that matter Mr Malfoy, I could loose my job just for being here" he said in a strained tone.

"They believe that Voldemort has returned once more," it wasn't a question. Lucius didn't need the answer confirmed to know he was right. He stood up suddenly and began to pace the hardwood floor, arms wrapped around him, steeling against the news.

"Return to St Mungos and cancel tomorrow morning's appointment Frost." he said as he gestured to the fireplace distractedly, without glancing at him or it.

It took a few minutes to gather himself, to gather his instincts into some sort of plan. He'd need to explain to Draco that he'd be staying at home after all, but without filling his head with nightmares of Voldemort and everything that notion would dredge up for his son. He'd need to protect the house, secure the floo systems, set additional wards, instruct the house elves.

He made his way through the house toward his son's room. Up the 4 flights of stairs, along the winding corridors, past at least 27 somber portraits of assorted dead relatives. Upon his arrival he tapped politely on the door and waited for a response. When this was not forthcoming he knocked again, with greater insistence.

"Draco, I must speak with you, may I come in?" Nothing.

"Draco, I'm going to come in now."

He pushed the door open. The room was dark as usual. Draco insisted on keeping light to a bare minimum whenever possible, and aside from sunlight - which Lucius had pressed upon him would be hard pushed to avoid, particularly once he'd had the curtains removed in a fit of frustration - would only permit a few scattered candles to light the space.

As he approached the bed he observed the covers were unkempt. Assuming his son was twisted beneath them in response to some unnamed demon who'd already crawled back into the depths of his mind he lifted a corner of the bedspread, softly whispering "Draco?"

But he found his perceptions hollow, the bed was empty. He crossed the room to the bathroom, the door was open slightly, no sound escaped. As he entered he realized with upward spirals of panic that Draco wasn't in there either. With a flick of his wand he brought adequate light to the suite of rooms and blinked for a few moments, adjusting. He snapped from cupboard to chest to wash basket, flinging and up-ending. He ripped the bedspread clear of the bed; Nothing.

Blind fear had already worked its way through most of his system by the time he called the house elves.

* * *

"So how are things at home?"

"You don't want to ask me that question Tonks,"

"That bad, huh?"

"I don't wanna talk about it," grumbled Ron.

"Look, I'm worried about you, is there any-"

Before she could finish a small brown bird darted between them and tapped the desk in from of Ron insistently.

"Saved by the owl," he grinned, taking the roll from the bird's leg and unfolding it carefully.

"Actually it's a falcon," Tonks retorted, just as she noticed the color drain from her colleagues face in a very uncharacteristic fashion. "Are you alright?"

"It's Draco, he's missing."

* * *

**So I'm really stuck for feedback actually, I'm not sure if I'm taking you all on an interesting ride or a rather mundane one... I've taken 2 years away from this story and just recently started writing it again... Maybe I've lost the knack?  
**


	8. Sick Lullabies

**Disclaimer: I don't own.**

* * *

"Ronald Weasley!"

His mother's screech never failed to clatter painfully around his inner ear.

"I'm sorry I missed dinner last week Mum, things have just been really hectic at work."

"Yes, well, your father said more people have gone missing," Molly paused, Ron noticed the grim look on her usually cheerful face, "but look at you! Have you grown? Where's Hermione?"

"Mum, it's only been 2 weeks," Molly proceeded to brush some infinitesimal specs of lint from the shoulder of her son's robes, "Mum please stop fussing," Ron protested before shifting around her and taking his usual seat at the kitchen table.

"Hi Dad," he said as they shared a weary look.

"How's morale in the Auror office?"

"Not good, that's two more missing, and still no sign of Draco."

Arthur grimaced, "I had Lucius Malfoy in my office again today,"

"Isn't he supposed to be staying out of Ministry business these days?" interjected Molly.

"Technically, yes, it was a condition of the deal that kept him out of Azkaban, but you can hardly blame the man. His only son's been missing for 2 weeks now and all the while people are disappearing or reporting that they've had blackouts."

"Not to mention Augusta Longbottom turning up dead like that," Ron added.

"That too," nodded Arthur bleakly, "frankly people are scared. Lucius might not like to admit it but he's terrified."

"To top it off we have no leads. Every time we think we're closing in on Voldemort he slips through our fingers. Kingsley's trying to keep everyone's spirits up, but we all know it's bad," Ron put his heads in his hands.

"I've had to threaten Lucius with the dementors to get him to stay clear of our investigations. He was none too happy about that, let me tell you. He wants the whole Auror office looking for Draco, I reiterated that with Voldemort on the loose and the story likely to break the headlines any day, the ministry needs to be seen to be concentrating our efforts there, but he doesn't want to hear it."

"You're doing everything you can Arthur dear," Molly rubbed her husband's arm and cast him a worried look. "That poor man though, he must be beside himself. Maybe I should send him a Shepherd's Pie."

"Mum you can't send Lucius Malfoy care packages; it's just, not right." Ron wrinkled his nose against the concept.

"And why not?" She asked defensively.

"Because he's Lucius Malfoy!"

"That's not even an answer Ronald. All I know is that when your brother died I was very glad to know that people cared!"

Ron said nothing, the blood ran cold from his face, "he's not dead Mum; he can't be dead," he said quietly, looking down at his place mat.

* * *

Impossible shadows stumbled past Draco's blistered fingers as he lay curled beneath the distended roots of an aged beech tree. They'd bothered him at first, the shadows. They'd skirt the perimeter of his personal space with a disdainful ignorance: jeering with each other, basking in their own fortitude.

When they became curious of his intrusion in their forest they'd crept closer, whispering sick lullabies in his ear. They'd pinched at his damp skin and mocked his filthy clothes. The thought of blinking had terrified him; he'd stared at the figures fixatedly, waiting for the next strike to come with clenched teeth.

When he realised they'd stolen the last of his food he'd pleaded and raged and crawled pitifully, but they'd merely laughed and he knew they were right: what he'd scavenged from the nearby village was nothing more than borrowed time; a moment of coherent weakness that he couldn't afford now.

Maybe he was being paranoid.

The shadows weren't trying to hurt him, rather they'd helped him: hadn't they shown him a truth that he'd already known but refused to admit? He let them dance around him, sapping at the piercing cold that had drilled into his bones. He gave them his confessions and they gave him their forgiveness. In this place they were all desolate together, they understood that he needed their strength to accomplish his final goal and they gave it freely.

"We're old friends now, you and I," he whispered to them, "I trust you."

"We will keep our promise darling, close your eyes, sleep now," they breathed back, brushing his hair from his cheek.

Perhaps days passed by him in the dark, the shadows had taken time from him just as they'd taken hunger and cold and pain. His body was in some other place, his head might have been too but for the carnal scramblings of life he could hear far off in the undergrowth. A half smile settled on his face knowing that his own struggle was all but over.

He found it strange when it came, white and burning and soft. It crept into everything and rested his heart. He heard the leaves rustle beside him and something moved his hand. He couldn't feel the fingers wrapping around his, more the sensation of his elbow shifting stiffly.

"Draco..."

He barely recognised that word.

"Wake up Draco," a voice pleaded gently.

He squinted in the incandescent haze, eventually easing his eyes open so that he could make out a pale face a few inches from his own, framed on one side by scatterings of golden leaves.

"Harry?"

"Hey you," the face smiled and another hand came to rest in Draco's hair.

"Have you come to take me away from this place?"

"Yes, but first we need to get you up. Can you move?"

Draco didn't register the question.

"Are you an angel?" He asked instead.

"No, just a man keeping a promise. We really need to get you inside Draco, you're frozen."

Draco watched as Harry detached their hands, pushed his upper half off the ground, and shifted his legs underneath him to kneel.

"I'm not cold, I want to go with you, please don't leave."

"I'm not going to leave you, I'm going to get you someplace warm. How long have you been out here?"

Draco stared back blankly for a moment, trying to process the different parts of what Harry had said.

"Will there be roast parsnips?" He asked.

"There can be roast parsnips, yes,"

Draco frowned, "I'm not hungry," he said in a tone of disgust.

"Come on you," strong arms reached around his waist and he felt himself being drawn out from his makeshift shelter. The arms readjusted, one beneath his knees and one around his shoulders, his head rested against what he knew to be Harry's chest. He felt the sensation of being lifted in the pit of his stomach and after a balancing pause the world twisted out of view.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about the delay in getting this out. I was really stuck on how to put the second half of this chapter together. I knew how I wanted it to come across but not how I wanted to write it. I think it's come out pretty well in the end. Let me know what you think.**


	9. Breathing Waves

**Disclaimer: I don't own._  
_**

* * *

Draco awoke surrounded by thick warm air. He noted the sound of a guitar strumming gently over a metronome of breathing waves. He made out a soft melodic whisper and the words "did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts..."

He let those words haunt his thoughts, wondering if that's what he'd done in the end. When he set out on this path, his mother had encouraged him to be strong, and he had been. That all seemed so long ago now...

_"This isn't an honour Draco, it's a curse. The Dark Lord is punishing our family for your father's failures."_

_"What choice do I have? If I fail he'll kill you both."_

_"There's always a choice Draco, your father and I made the wrong one, long ago. We were young, not as young as you are now but young enough to have been taken in by the charmed promises of a psychopath. We didn't have parents who knew the realities of the war we were embarking on."_

_"And I do?"_

_"Yes Draco, you do. There's no glory in this, there will be no victory. Even if everything the Dark Lord wishes comes to pass you will be broken, the faces of those you've destroyed in his name will never leave you."_

_"What would you have me do?"_

_"Get out before it's too late, join the resistance."_

_"I'm 16, and a Malfoy, they'd never take me."_

_"If Harry Potter is old enough to fight then so are you."_

_"I'm not Saint fucking Potter though am I?" _

_Narcissa paused at her son's outburst and decided to try a different line of persuasion.  
_

_"Have I ever told you about my cousin Regulus?" Draco shook his head, visibly cursing himself for snapping at his mother, "He was a Deatheater, the Dark Lord killed him."_

_"Why?"_

_"He found something out. Something none of us are supposed to know. Draco, do you know how the Dark Lord was able to return?"_

_"Because he's a monster?"_

_His mother smiled and shook her head, "He's hidden parts of his soul in certain objects. I'm not sure how it's possible. Your father might, I've never dared ask him. When he was killed they anchored him to this world, they bought him time to find himself a new body."_

_"So you're saying that if the objects are destroyed then he can be destroyed?"_

_"Yes, that's what I'm saying."_

_"Then it's hopeless."_

_"Not quite," his mother offered him a rueful smile and handed him a small piece of parchment, "I can't tell you how many there are or how to destroy them, but I have spent my time after the last war researching the possibilities, this is what I've come up with." _

_"So I'm supposed to run off and condemn you both to death?"_

_"Draco, we're your parents. It's our job to protect you, not the other way around."_

_"But Father-"_

_"Don't underestimate your father Draco," she pulled her son into a tight hug and whispered "Be strong my darling."  
_

After a time he rolled onto his side and buried his eyes in the crook of his arm. He'd spent enough of his life drugged by this point to recognise the distinct haze of charms and potions fumbling around in his system. He stretched his legs forward and back again across the width of the bed, exploring instinctively both his own consciousness and the surface on which he lay. He noted that the sheets were crisper than his own and that they smelled of lemons.

"Draco?"

He groaned half-heartedly in response. He was in no mood to deal with healers and well wishers and bloody new age therapists with guitars. He heard a dull off-key twang accompanied by a light clatter, and a moment later the bed dipped slightly to one side.

"Hey sleepyhead," a hand came to rest on Draco's shoulder.

Something slotted together in his head: That voice. He knew that voice.

He felt the bed move again and a cold draft reached his side as the sheets were lifted. A warm body settled alongside him and the tension ripped up Draco's spine. He opened his eyes and found Harry's staring back.

"Is it really you?"

"I made you a promise didn't I? I'm sorry it took me so long," Harry replied.

Draco said nothing, did nothing; his eyes were manic. After a few minutes he sucked in a lungful of oxygen, then another, then another. When he broke it was crude: tears and phlegm and saliva ran together as he cried for the first time in three stifled years; his body wracked violently; his hands found Harry but were useless. Memories thundered through him, memories of dark thoughts and darker ambitions...

"I wasn't strong enough. I gave up on both of us."

The arms wrapped around Draco squeezed tighter, "You're the only reason I made it back here, nobody else was that strong, nobody believed in us more than you."

Draco's breathing slowed. He looked up, "I've missed your face," he whispered, "they took it away."

He reached out and drifted his fingertips over Harry's features, testing his ability to control his own movements again. The skin was pale, unblemished. There was something wrong.

"Where's your scar?"

"I got bored of it," Harry smiled.

"I'm glad, it never suited you."

Draco sat up gingerly and took in the room. Everything seemed to emanate a soft glow. It was simply decorated: The floorboards and plain furniture were painted white, thin white cotton drapes floated out slightly from the open window indicating a breeze that Draco couldn't quite feel. He could see the ocean stretching the horizon outside.

"What is this place?"

Harry lifted himself up from the pillows and placed a kiss on Draco's temple, "What do you want it to be?"

Draco found that he didn't care much about where they were or why they were here. He turned his head, finding Harry's forehead with his own, "I already have everything I want."

Harry kissed him gently, lacing his fingers into the back of Draco's hair. Something hot formed in the pit of Draco's stomach, it was almost painful but it didn't worry him. To feel anything at all was blessing he never thought he'd have again.

* * *

**A/N: **

**I just want to thank everyone who's been reading this story since I started writing it again. Your reviews and PMs have been greatly appreciated.**

**So: What do you think? Has Draco landed in paradise or is all a dream? It could go either way so I'm going to let you decide...  
**


	10. Traitor

**Disclaimer: I don't own._  
_**

* * *

"Come on you, get up."

Draco grumbled playfully and rolled onto his stomach, "Do we have to?"

"Draco, we've barely left this bed in 3 days, if we don't get up and do something vaguely productive soon I'm going to start thinking you only want me for my arse."

Draco lifted his head to look at Harry, "You don't really believe that do you?" Harry merely raised an eyebrow before placing a kiss on Draco's forehead and swinging his legs around to find the floor. He padded over to the dresser and rummaged around for a few minutes. At length he extracted a plain black vest and a pair of battered denim shorts and pulled them on.

"I don't have any clothes, at least not any for this kind of weather."

Harry sighed with amusement, rolled his eyes, dug back through the drawers, and threw a couple of garments in Draco's direction.

"Hmmmm, you've finally developed some sort of taste in clothes I see," mused Draco as he examined the white linen shirt and the pale grey shorts.

"Just get dressed you insufferable git," Harry laughed.

The small beach house opened out directly onto the sand. The sun stung Draco's eyes at first but the view was breathtaking so he gladly forced himself to take it in. They didn't bother with shoes, preferring instead to feel the warmth of the day between their toes. The shore seemed to stretch on for miles, a little way off in the distance there appeared to be a cluster of market stalls and what could have been a makeshift cafe, but other than that it was deserted.

They walked down to the ocean's edge and kicked the shallow water at each other's shins until Draco slipped and narrowly missed a sea urchin with his foot. They opted instead to sprawl out on the sand, letting the waves lap gently closer to them as the tide drew in.

"It's beautiful here Harry," Draco whispered.

"I wanted us to be somewhere peaceful; we've both been through so much."

"I love it, I love you."

Harry didn't say anything for a time. His eyebrows furrowed together and more than once he opened his mouth and closed it again.

"You don't have to say it back, it doesn't matter."

Harry twisted his body around so that he was leaning on his elbow slightly above Draco, "That's the second time you've said that to me."

Draco turned his head away and shrugged, "You just looked so uncomfortable..."

"Yes, but not because-" he cut himself off mid sentence, "What would you say if I said I couldn't love you back? Would you accept that?" asked Harry.

Shock hit Draco's chest like a broken bottle. His stomach tumbled around and his skin felt too tight for his bones.

"Yes," he replied quietly.

Harry was on top of him before he knew what was happening, gripping his shoulders with force.

"Look at me Draco," he demanded, pulling the face back to his, "Are you insane? Don't you get that you're worth more than that? You deserve everything I promised you, and so help me I'm going to make sure you get it, do you understand?"

"You don't have any obligation to me Harry," Draco bit back.

"Fuck obligation, I'm done with obligation!" he seethed before registering the obvious fear he was generating. He took a deep breath and continued in a softer tone. "I came back to you because I love you and I want to make you happy."

He reached for the chain around Draco's neck and unclasped it gently, "Do you know what this is?" He indicated the silver band that the chain carried. A magically engraved dragon danced around it slowly.

"It's your ring."

Harry shook his head. "It's not mine. It's my father's wedding ring; I want it to be your wedding ring."

Draco's lips parted slightly in disbelief: he knew how important relics of his parents were to Harry.

"So what I'm struggling to find the words for, I mean, what I want to ask is: Will you marry me Draco? Out here on the sand in the moonlight?"

* * *

Arthur Weasley stepped into the manor and addressed the house elf who'd granted his entrance, "Is Mr Malfoy home?"

"He is occupied at the moment Sir," the squeaked reply was accompanied by a low bow.

"It's rather important that I speak with him, will you ask him to see me?"

"As you wish Sir," the house elf disappeared in a blink and Arthur was left to study the entrance hall politely.

He noted that it was bigger even than his own sitting room but far less inviting. The cold marble and sombre artwork seemed to leech all the warmth from his spirit. He waved awkwardly at the aged portrait of a beautiful young maiden who hung on the back wall. She stared openly at him.

"He's not in the best of moods you know, if you value your eardrums you'll leave now," she stated.

"I'd best stay put my lady, but I appreciate your concern."

"It's your funeral," came the gloomy response, "Who are you anyway?"

"Currently I'm the Minister for Magic, but you may call me Arthur," he smiled.

"Arthur... I knew an Arthur once, he was such a kind, strong, noble man..." Her demeanour became more hospitable, "Have you come about my dear Draco?"

Arthur nodded silently just as the house elf reappeared.

"Mr Malfoy will see you now. He's in the drawing room, I'll take you," he squeaked.

When Arthur entered the room Lucius' eyes bore into his own in scrutiny. After a long moment he sneered and turned away, "Why are you here?"

"I came to discuss the investigation with you, may I sit?"

"Feel free, why don't you help yourself to my vintage Fire Whiskey as well, and after that you can take a jig in the family graveyard," Lucius drawled bitterly.

"Thank you," Arthur replied genially, helping himself to a short glass and pouring out an inch or so of amber liquid, "I think I'll pass on the jig though."

Lucius sat down in a high backed chair facing the room's grand fireplace and stared absently into the unlit hearth, supporting his chin on his white knuckles. "You may as well get it over with then," he snarled.

"You already know what I'm going to say. Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's rude to read your guests thoughts?"

Lucius merely shrugged.

"You look tired Lucius."

"Of course I look tired I haven't slept in nearly three weeks you halfwit!"

"I know that this is difficult, but I wanted to let you know in person that we're still doing everything in our power to track him down."

"And what of Voldemort? Have you managed to catch up with him yet?"

"Regretfully, no. He seems to have gone underground. There's been no sign of him for a few days."

Lucius sat up straight, his eyes wild with panic, "He's got him, he has Draco!"

"We don't know that yet, we have to stay calm."

"Stay calm? Stay **calm**! Would you be calm? Do you realise how much hatred that bastard has for my son? He wants to rip him into pieces!"

"Voldemort has rather a lot of unfinished business; Draco may not even be his target."

"You wouldn't say that if you'd heard him in St Mungos," Lucius uttered darkly. "Don't you understand? Draco defected, he's a traitor. Not only that but he's the only traitor to ever escape his punishment. Voldemort despises him for that more than he despises Harry Potter. Potter was an irritating inconvenience that he wanted out of the way. Draco he wants to mutilate and violate and break. He took great pleasure in describing it to me once, everything he'd do when he caught up with him.

"He said if I was lucky," Lucius hitched, "If I was lucky he'd let me watch... so that I could see the horror in his eyes before they flickered out for good."

* * *

**A/N: **

**Hope you like...  
**


	11. Mirrored By The Moon

**Disclaimer: I don't own.**

**_A/N: This was actually originally meant to be in with the last chapter but I got a bit of the ol' writers block. Anyway, because of that it's shorter than the other chapters, I'm really sorry for that but I didn't want to leave you all hanging while I tried to lengthen it out. I hope you don't mind. Forgive me?  
_**

* * *

Arthur Weasley was not an unintelligent man. He saw the world with a unique perspective, yes, but he was no fool. He suspected that it was the begrudging realisation of this fact that had caused Lucius Malfoy to drop his hardened glare for long enough to communicate with him honestly. This said, he still found himself surprised to have survived the past hour in the infamous Malfoy Manor without being hexed into oblivion or at the very least labeled as a blood traitor by some manic house elf.

"There's something that strikes me about the reports from Voldemort's admittance into St Mungos Lucius," he ventured.

"Oh?" Lucius didn't look up, but merely swirled his dregs of Firewhiskey around their glass.

"Well I admit I wasn't there, and as you've already pointed out I cant say I bore witness to the intent behind his words, but some words are clear enough on their own."

"Your point being?" Lucius snapped tersely.

"You don't seem remotely concerned that Voldemort wants you own hide on a platter."

"That's because I'm not."

"No?" Arthur furrowed his eyebrows in skepticism.

"No."

"Why on earth not man!"

Lucius shrugged wearily, "He will come, and I will die. But not until I've suffered my own son's death. That's my real punishment you see," he looked at Arthur intently for a few moments with a resigned expression on his face, "And after that, what reason would I have to fight him?"

"Your punishment for betraying the cause?"

"I never openly betrayed the cause. I told you, Draco is the last traitor standing. No, my crimes were twofold: Incompetence and having the audacity to avoid Azkaban."

"I don't think I've ever heard you described as incompetent Lucius. 'Sarcastic', 'Vicious', and once 'The living incarnation of cruelty itself', but not incompetent."

"I raised a son capable of following his own path, in his eyes that's about as incompetent as you can get."

"Do you regret any of it? Being a Deatheater I mean?"

Lucius didn't reply. He instead stood up and refilled his glass carefully. Once done he proffered the decanter in his guest's direction, taking the curious nod as an affirmation he refilled the other glass and set the decanter back in it's place on the polished teak sideboard.

"I'm too old now for regrets Arthur. I'm not proud of my life, but at least I had Draco, at least I could be proud of him."

"We'll find him, I promise you that as one father to another."

"Yes, but will he be alive, dead, or in pieces?"

* * *

Draco shivered. Clover and Periwinkle flowers brushed his arms and back as they coasted their way around them; incense burned in the hand of an elegant High Priestess as she circled them slowly, whispering to the sea air: "Amodo eris unum, Amodo eris totus..."

The night sky was a landscape of stars that Draco didn't recognise but this only made them more enchanting to him. Harry's eyes followed his gaze and he was smiling, he was nearly always smiling. He found it odd, the Harry he'd known during the war rarely did this, but that was war and this was paradise, so he left the thought half-formed.

The magic the Priestess had cast around their entwined fingers had spread so that now their whole bodies knelt in a sphere of silver light, cushioned by velvet sand and mirrored by the moon above them. Draco felt a flex of power snap through his system and the world began to stumble around him. His eyes burned and he rolled them up under his eyelids to cool them down.

'I can feel you,' a voice whispered inside his head. He opened his eyes to look at Harry and found him shaking slightly.

'Is that what this is?'

Harry nodded unevenly and closed his own eyes. Images stuttered through their minds; Draco saw snakes and fire and himself whirl together in a bizarre carousel of emotions. Colours formed other shapes that he didn't have the comprehension to decipher. He felt fractured and restored, void and absolute, unsure what was his and what was Harry's. Their lips met and the magic around them became chaotic but neither of them registered it fully, their surroundings slipped away and they became lost in a wilderness of their own creation.

And when eternity broke he was blind and sated and numb. The pale dawn on the horizon swept over him like the tide. And then there was Harry, his fingers still entwined with Draco's own.

"In aeternum et die."

* * *

**A/N: **

**Sorry for the length again, and Merry Christmas!**

**Free eggnog for all those who want to review! :)**

**_N.B - The Latin: _**

_**Amodo eris unum, Amodo eris totus = From henceforth thou shalt be one, From henceforth thou shalt be whole**_

_**In aeternum et die = Forever and a day**_

**x X x**

**'Rora  
**


	12. Muggle Made

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Rowling... unless she doesn't want it in which case it belongs to... Griphook. Hope you enjoy**.

* * *

"What time did you get in last night?" Hermione's voice was scathing, a perfect complement to the morning Ron Weasley was currently having.

"Gone five I guess," he mumbled, trying to decide whether he had the energy or the time to make a cup of coffee.

"The kids are beginning to forget what you look like," she accused.

"Don't be over dramatic Hermione, I'm too tired."

"And whose fault is that exactly?"

"Well, if I were a gambling man I'd put my money on Voldemort," he replied through gritted teeth.

"There are other Aurors in the department Ron."

"Yes, and they're all working as hard as I am! I'm not getting into this argument with you again Herm, I have to get back to the office."

Hermione's indignant response hurled with him halfway through the floo network and Ron wondered why he'd bothered to go home at all. He stepped out of the fireplace at the Ministry of Magic just as a green haired woman thumped into his side.

"Sorry mate," she said automatically before registering who he was, "Oh, it's you!"

"Morning Tonks," he yawned, "get much sleep?"

"An hour or two... You?"

"About the same, come on, we best get up there before we're late."

Together they found an emptying lift and stepped inside. Soon it pulled them back, left, and skywards in sudden jolts, eventually releasing them into a dark and dizzy corridor of uniformly painted grey doors. They took the forth door to the left and were met by a sea of shattered colleagues as they entered.

"Kingsley here yet?"

Ron's question was answered by a few shaking heads. He found a rickety wooden stool and decided to chance it – at least if it broke it would keep him awake for an extra few minutes. They waited in near silence, a smattering of creaking chairs and breath weaving the dishevelled group together.

At length the door opened to reveal their department head. Kingsley's broad silhouette drew their attention instantly; he carried a thick project file strained with paperwork under one arm and strode to place it on a small table near the front of the room.

"We're all tired." He stated.

"We've all worked harder these past few weeks than we have since the war. The public are frightened, the press are about as helpful as a troupe of Cornish Pixies, and if we don't come up with some results soon we'll have mass hysteria on our hands.

"I've read all of your reports, and I can see the determination in each of you to resolve this situation, but our leads are exhausted and right now we need fresh ideas. I've called this meeting so we can go back to the drawing board as a team and see if we can get something to spark. I want facts, not assumptions, Longbottom, start us off will you."

"Well, we know that on the 7th of July 2001 at approximately 7.35 AM, Lord Voldemort-"

"The bare facts Longbottom," Kingsley interjected.

"Sorry Sir. At the aforementioned time, a _creature_ crossed through the veil to our plane. The reports from the D.O.M officers present -a Mr Davidson and a Mr Gibbs- state that the creature was ablaze, blackened, and that it stumbled a few steps before dropping to all fours and making toward them. They attempted to dispel the flames but the creature behaved with aggression. Though it howled in obvious pain it rejected their help with a fair degree of belligerence. They tried to petrify it but found the spell ineffective; eventually they used an Avarium charm to erect a cage, successfully trapping the creature while they contacted their superiors."

Ron thought about this, piecing it together with the testimony he'd read from the St Mungos healers, "I'm sorry, can I take an angle on that Mr Shacklebolt?"

"Go ahead Weasley."

"The suggestion from the St Mungos reports is that the healing spells themselves were causing the creature pain: when the healers stopped casting them the screaming stopped. Was the creature aggressive to begin with or was it's aggression a reaction to the spells cast on it by the Unspeakables?"

"Does it matter?" A colleague barked through his untrimmed yellow moustache.

"I think at this point everything matters," Ron replied simply, "Look, forget everything we know now, just for a second. In those first few moments do we have any real evidence that we're dealing with a hostile being, or a frightened animal?"

"Are you serious? You're seriously suggesting that Voldemort's not hostile?"

"No, of course Voldemort's hostile. But can we recap for a second: why does the burning man-creature-thing have to be Voldemort?"

His question was met with averted eyes and more than a few groans. Hector Fitzroy, the greatly respected grandfather clock of the Auror Department, placed a gentle hand on Ron's shoulder. He was a wizened man who'd survived 3 major wizarding wars, 11 departmental heads, 4 bouts of dragon pox, and, once, a rather dodgy encounter with something he believed had been called a 'doner kebab'. When he spoke it was with soft understanding:

"We'd all like to believe that we're not faced with this Mr Weasley, but sadly it's not a fantasy we can afford."

* * *

He loved the way the light danced through it, deforming and colouring on route so that it painted beautiful translucent pictures on every surface of the simply decorated beach hut.

"You're going to hypnotise yourself love."

Draco turned to Harry and raised an eyebrow, "I hardly think so."

He rolled onto his back once again to face the glass sculpture dangling from the roof, "It's just so striking the way the colours melt into each other... and the shape... It's hard to believe it's muggle made. How do they do that Harry?"

"I'm not sure. I imagine it involves a lot of heat though. Maybe you could learn?"

"What for?"

"Well, you said you didn't know what you were going to do with your life... Maybe that's what you could do. Think about it, we could have a little shop somewhere and sell them."

Draco closed his eyes and drew the scene out in his imagination. He felt Harry's presence in his head and knew that he was seeing it too: Draco tinkering away in some quant little workshop in the back; Harry charming customers out on the shop floor; the two of them sharing the humble little flat upstairs. As he explored this daydream he saw the tiniest details form all around him, things that were so Harry it made his heart swell: A freshly baked treacle tart sat atop the stove; a hideously ugly fur covered wallet complete with fangs lay on the coffee table; and an unmoving photograph of them hung above the mantelpiece.

"Could we really have this? This simple, quiet life?"

"We can have whatever kind of life you want to Draco. I don't care what we do; you're the only thing that matters to me."

"Do you know something?"

"What?"

"It's strange, I feel so... at peace with everything. I love you Harry."

* * *

**A/N: **

**Happy Hogmanay!**

**Read, Review, Enjoy!**

**Oh, and I've amended the previous chapter to include the Latin translations in case anyone was interested :)  
**

**x X x**

**'Rora**


	13. Out Of Focus

**Disclaimer: Take my money... All 2 pence of it...**

* * *

_The moon was cut with black splinters reaching out from naked trees; its light served only to worship the dying woodland beneath it. A fierce gale rattled Draco's teeth, his skin burned in exposure to the harsh landscape. Dark shapes stalked closer, around the trees and across the dirt. He knew before they came what they were. _

_"You know it's not right Draco,"_

_"You can feel it in your bones,"_

_He swung to catch sight of them but his feet took him further than he'd willed and he spun: until his eyes bulged and his throat became caught in the noose of his own whirlwind; until he moved so fast that silver spikes of sky imprisoned him in their own perverse brand of balance._

_He forced his windpipe to draw air and immediately wasted it in protest:_

_"You can't take him from me; you promised me this!"_

_"We promised you death," the shadows replied, "Death is what you asked for."_

_Draco tumbled to the ground and desperately tried to scrape his fingers into it. Ice slithered beneath his palm; he wrapped it in his fist, instinctively bringing it up to his face. The adder hissed in cold fury and he threw it, hard._

_"I've changed my mind, I don't want it anymore! I want him!" he screamed._

_"He is death; your death,"_

_"You're not making any sense!"_

_"It is not ours to choose... You know it's not right..."_

The light hit his pupils like a dart hits a balloon. He brought the back of his wrist to his eyes and squinted in his surroundings. The wooden sash window was open slightly and he could hear the ocean drifting in over the sand and itself.

"Just a dream, just in my head"

A body stirred next to him: throwing out waves of heat as it moved, "Mmmm?"

"Nothing Harry, go back to sleep."

"Love you,"

Draco ran his fingers through the soft brown hair that drifted over the pillows. He traced the curve of Harry's ear with his thumb, and watched the rise and fall of his chest until its rhythm became deep and slow.

"It's not what I expected, being bonded to you," he whispered, "It's not living in each other's heads, or hearing everything you think. I thought it might be, it was at first. Most of the time it's just like this driving intuition and I'm glad: I can't wait to learn everything about you Love.

"You're perfect Harry... Did you know?

"Your eyelids flutter when you're dreaming... I wonder what you dream about Harry...

"Are you the dream Harry?"

* * *

"It just doesn't _fit_ though Tonks!"

"The autopsy results are conclusive Ron, they performed all the usual rites: we _know_ she didn't die of natural causes; we _also_ knowshe didn't have any wounds or contusions; they even took blood samples so we know there weren't any poisons in her system. The only thing that causes someone to drop dead for no traceable reason is Avada Kedavra."

"But it's all wrong! There's no reason for it. The disappearances, the memory distortions: fine, fair enough, maybe there's information that he needs. But why kill Augusta Longbottom? I mean, nothing was stolen, she wasn't privy to any classified ministry information, and physically she wasn't a threat to him. Unless of course I've missed some bizarre prophecy?"

"I don't know, that woman packed a serious magical punch..."

"Maybe before she was blind... And there was no dark mark! When have you ever known Voldemort to kill someone and not leave the mark? It's not his style."

"Maybe he didn't have time, maybe he was too weak."

Ron put down the stone cold mug of coffee dregs he'd been flailing around and simply raised an eyebrow at his colleague.

"Okay, okay, I didn't buy that one either. But say you're right, say it's not Voldemort: we still need to catch this guy, he's hurting people, he needs brought to justice for that. And we're talking about Neville's Grandmother here remember? Don't you think he's hurt enough without you dragging her death through all this second guessing?"

Ron grimaced. She was right of course. And he was being an insensitive jackass. But he couldn't shirk off the feeling that the pieces didn't fit together quite the way they should.

"Come on, we'd better get to Borgin and Burkes," Tonks smiled as she stood up.

"Let joy be unconfined," came Ron's grumbled response.

* * *

Draco's left leg buckled and he grappled the edge of the small kitchen table to keep from falling. Harry's hands were steadying him in the same instant.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, just feeling a little out of focus is all."

"Sit down will you love?"

Draco nodded absently and obliged.

"You've been a bit off-colour for a few days now, are you sure there's nothing I can do?"

Draco looked up and in that moment his world seemed to strobe, black against white, back and then forth. He shivered before shaking himself free of it.

"Food, we should have food." Harry clapped his hands together and began opening kitchen cupboards.

The first time Harry had cooked for them Draco couldn't help but be amused at the way he left all the cupboard doors open as he went, only closing them when he was certain that at least half their contents were decorating the countertop.

"Why would I imagine that?" he said quietly to himself as the cascade of bangs told him that Harry had completed his food hunt, and the rush of the igniting gas told him that cooking was about to commence.

"Sorry?" Harry asked as he poured far too much pasta into far too small a saucepan.

"It doesn't matter. Kiss me?"

Harry stepped over behind him and wrapped his arms around Draco's shoulders. Draco closed his eyes and turned his head. Lava swilled in the pit of his stomach as it always did when they kissed and he relaxed into the haze that was Harry.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Hello *waves* It's 04.05 in the morning. **

**I've proof read this 3 times but I'm guessing (did I mention the time?) that there's probably some typos in there. I promise I will fix them as soon as I have slept.**

**Sleep goooood**

**Anyway, please enjoy, please review :)**

**x X x**

**'Rora**


	14. Twisted Boughs

**Disclaimer: The world and characters belong to JK and those scary looking lawyer types flanking her...**

* * *

The sound of it struck Harry's attention from the other room and he dropped the shirt he was folding in his haste to seek it out.

"Are you alright Love?" he called as he made his way around their bed to the door.

Draco was statuesque, staring slack-jawed through the kitchen window. The remnants of a china mug lay scattered across the tiled floor, bathed in fresh black coffee.

"What is it Draco?"

Harry approached with caution, taking care to avoid the shards with his bare feet.

"What is that doing there?"

Harry's eyes followed the now outstretched finger, taking in the quiet sandy beach, and the ocean beyond it.

"I don't see-"

"There, there," the finger jabbed with greater insistence, "that bloody great tree!" Draco turned to look at him and in doing so caught his heel on a sharpened chunk of porcelain, "Fuck!"

"You're bleeding," Harry started to crouch down.

"I don't care! Tell me you see it too; tell me how it got there!"

Harry straightened up and glanced once more out of the window, biting his lip.

"There's nothing there Sweetheart," he said, putting his hands around the other man's shoulders, his eyes soft with concern. Draco wrestled from the loose grip and stumbled across the open-plan living space to the front door, blood trailing from his foot as he went. When he stepped out onto the warm sand he hissed in pain but didn't slow down. With a maddening degree of determination he tore towards the stark black hulk protruding from the silver-dusted coastline.

"Draco, stop! You're hurting yourself!"

He sank to his knees as he reached it, placing his palms flat against its cold, damp bark. He pulled at it and fragments of the rotting top layer crumbled between his fingertips. He pulled his head back and followed the twisted boughs as they fractured his perfect sky.

_'You know it's not right...'_

"Love?" Harry ventured from behind him.

Draco's body jerked around so that his back pressed itself against the harsh textures of the aged tree trunk.

"Stay back, stay away from me!"

"I know you're scared, but I need you to calm down," Harry said as he crept closer on his knees.

The sky above them began to flicker like an overused strip light as the air ripped and tumbled its frustrations together.

"What are you? What is this place! Are you a hallucination? Is all of this in my fucking head? Am I lying comatose in that godforsaken forest dying or am I already dead?"

Harry's face and shoulders crumpled. He took a moment to speak and when he did his tone was forcibly level so as not to betray his own anxiety.

"I'm your husband, and we're on a private, heavily warded beach, on the main island of Zanzibar. Nothing can hurt you here Love, I made sure of it."

Draco sucked oxygen down his constricted windpipe, "What's happening to me Harry?"

"They had you on an awful cocktail of potions Love; it's not surprising that rapid withdrawal from them all at once is causing its share of side effects."

"The potions... They kept you away."

"No potion could keep me away forever, I promised you that."

'_We promised you death.'_

"I feel like I'm losing my mind."

"Come on, come back inside, the best thing for you right now is sleep."

Draco took the hand that was offered and fought to ignore the sensation of bark scraping his naked back as he rose. He cast one last look at the dark menace before Harry guided him back through the door of their simple little house.

He expected sleep to suck him into its depths as soon as he sunk into their soft mattress, but drained though he was it never came. He lay on his side in silent reflection, eyes closed, Harry's arm draped over him from behind like a shield.

"I have to go back," he whispered.

"I've been thinking the same thing," Harry replied, "When should we leave?"

"Not we, me. I can't take you with me."

"Uh, not to put too fine a point on it Draco, but you're not the only one who'd want to know I'm back."

"You're wrong."

"I don't understand what you're saying."

"It hurts them too much. I don't think I realised how much it was hurting me, but it is."

Harry shifted behind him and pulled away. He placed his hand on Draco's arm, rolling him onto his back to inspect his expression.

"What are you saying?" He frowned.

"I'm saying that I can't stay wrapped up in this fantasy forever."

"How can you say that? This is what we wanted; this is what we fought for!"

Draco sat up and twisted his body away from Harry's, grounding both of his feet to the floor. He wrapped around himself, gripping his fingernails into either hip until vulgar marks were sure to be left behind.

"Don't do that," Harry grimaced.

"What does it matter, none of this is real."

"So when you knelt before the gods and promised yourself to me, that was a lie was it?"

"No, I-"

"And when we're in bed, you feel nothing?"

"Of course not, but-"

"But **what** Draco? How the fuck can you just** sit** there and tell me that none of this is real, that I'm not real! I love you! For three years I crawled and bludgeoned and burned to get back to you! And all you can say is that I'm a figment of your fucking imagination!"

"Stop it! Stop talking at me like I want this! I love you too. I always will, and I am yours. And I feel... like my ribs are cracking and my toes are burning and my heart is **screaming** whenever I find myself looking down into your eyes, because it's everything I ever wanted... I feel whole because with you I am."

"Then why are you doing this to us? Why can't you even look at me right now?"

"Because I feel everything I knew I'd feel when you came back. This," Draco gestured around the room, facing Harry at last with resolve, "Is perfect. It's everything I imagined it would be..."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Nope, not the last chapter, I promise!**

**Review!  
**

x X x

'Rora


	15. Grounding Sheers

**Disclaimer: **

**The lovely Harry and Draco are unfortunately not mine, I merely kidnapped them a while back in a spat of ****uncharacteristic **mischief. I do intend to return them to the wonderful Ms Rowling and her associates in due course.

**A/N: **

******Thank you to all you beautiful reviewers!** You make my day!  


**Apologies are in order for leaving you all hanging last week! Please forgive me?**

* * *

Harry lunged to place both of his hands either side of his husband's face; he pulled him deep into his heart with a kiss so open it cracked him apart. He pushed every part of himself into that kiss without censor, reaching for the connection that must be there. If he could just... get to it! If he could feel it, make it tangible in his grasp - any problems they had could be solved, somehow. But it eluded him, and Draco's response was full of pained resignation. There was love, yes, but not that borne of passion and hope. This love came from a place poisoned with the acceptance of loss.

Harry snarled in frustration and bit down, trying to fight the small quirk of joy it gave him to hear the pained squeak it caused.

"That hurt Harry!"

"No it didn't. I'm a hallucination remember, how could I hurt you?" He replied with a lace of venom.

"Don't be like this; I don't want to remember you like this."

Harry smiled sweetly, "Make me stop then. I'm in your head, that means you're in control of this," he said as he sunk his teeth into Draco's neck and ripped his fingernails down each arm.

Draco snarled and fought against the grounding sheers of pain that the so-called Harry left in his wake. He had no desire to allow his mind to accept this reality. To do that would be to give up, and that wasn't an option for him any longer. He needed to live, his Harry would want that; anything that wanted to keep him here, locked up inside his own head could never be his Harry.

He threw back the mental phantom just as it dug its claws into his back and hissed at the scrape of flesh as it fought to maintain its grip.

The creature steadied itself, green eyes flashing as it adopted a defensive stance.

"Well what are you waiting for Draco? Blink me out of existence already."

Draco gathered himself and concentrated on the rhythm of his lungs, willing them to bring his pounding heart to order. He touched his fingers to the angry streaks running down his arms and inspected the blood that came away. If anything could anchor him to his life it had to be the sight of that crimson stain working its way under his fingernails. He thought of the war, and all the dead eyes that stared back at him. He thought of all the people he'd been too slow to save, and all the pain he'd caused in the aftermath. No more.

He willed himself to wake: he had work to do and wrongs to right. He expected the world around him to crumble, and waited for the cold forest to whip against his face once more. He tried valiantly to blank out the warm hands that settled on his shoulders.

"It won't work, Love."

"Don't call me that," he bit, and the creature hurled him back. He gasped as his head smacked off the bed frame and looked up to see cold fire blazing down at him. He returned the sneer with one of pure resentment and grappled his fingers into the dark head of hair, yanking his tormentor into a spiteful kiss.

"Let me go," he growled against the creature's ear before biting down on the folds of cartilage there.

"I'm not keeping you here you arse," it returned, "You can't wake up because this isn't a fucking dream you nut job!"

"Harry would never look at me the way you're looking at me now."

"That's a shit argument Draco, first I'm not real because I'm too predictable, now I'm not real because I'm acting out of character," he mocked as he grabbed hold of the other's wrists and wrenched him into a sitting position. Draco felt one of his shoulders crack at the sudden movement.

Draco stared down at the wounds covering his body and winced. Moody once told him that pain, physical pain that is, was all in the head. So it made sense that he could feel it, right? If this was all in his head too? But then, he'd never really been able to believe that before. Never in his darkest nightmares had he experienced any real pain, and never in the waking world had he been able to deny it. Yet here he was, and almost every part of his skin cried out with agony.

"Look at me!" Harry demanded, "Look at me and tell me you feel nothing, because if you're going to break me I want a damn good reason to hate you!"

But Draco didn't, he was lost in his fixation. He eventually turned his attention back to Harry but didn't meet his eyes. Instead he focused intently on a small section of his chest. He brought his hands to it and gently framed the spot. His expression was glazed, but when he spoke there was something in his tone - curiosity perhaps - that told Harry there was more going on in his head than one might guess.

"Hurt me again."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

Harry brushed the hair from his shoulder and bit down at the edge of the joint. He felt the muscles there tense and withdrew to see Draco's face twisted into a frown.

"More," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I can feel it and I don't know what that means," Draco murmured.

Soon Draco was lost in the onslaught of sharp fingers and teeth. His vision was white with it and his legs shook. His hands felt weak and he gripped the crisp sheets to remind them of their strength. He felt drowned, and his throat closed to the flood.

"Love? Are you alright?"

"More," Draco growled.

"Do you want me to-"

"Yes."

He watched Harry study him for an eternity and grew frustrated. He wanted to shake the concern out of him, he needed this dammit!

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Harry said carefully.

"For god's sake Harry!"

"So I'm Harry now? You believe now?"

Draco stilled and reached deep into Harry's mind with his own.

_'I love you.'_

* * *

**A/N:**

**Whatcha think?**

x X x

'Rora**_  
_**


	16. With A Twitch

**Disclaimer: I'm too young to die!**

* * *

That first breath was a shock of ice to his chest, and the others punched just as deep, just as vicious as the cold burn that raked his bare skin. Draco struggled to separate the disturbing whispers of his dreams from the dirt caked to the side of his face.

"Harry?"

Nothing came but a dizzy rush of magic and blood: thrumming out from his gut turning memory into agony with each ripple. His stomach lurched full of glass; the fingers which had languidly curled around soft dark wisps of hair as he found sleep now ached as though the muscles had frozen and shattered.

His eyes stung with lies and the rising dawn; the shock drilled through his bones on impact. His mouth twisted into a scream that wouldn't come as his heart convulsed, sending out jolts of torture in spikes to the back of his neck and the soles of his feet.

And then it came: the scream so pitched that it pounded the earth. It took a knife-gust of wind for Draco to disconnect the sound from the tumult in his own head and register the pounding as heavy boots frantic with the forest floor.

"Jesus Fee, what's wrong? Are you okay?" A low voice panted.

"I think," the shaky response came, "I think he's dead."

"Christ!"

A thud to a drum at his side and two fingers to Draco's throat stilled the fragments of reality that rushed to make sense of themselves.

"He's alive, here, take my phone, call an ambulance," the low voice said, "Can you hear me mate? It's gonna be okay, hang in there. Squeeze my hand if you understand."

It was only a reflex reaction, a twitch, a weak glitch in fate's design, but the man felt it and squeezed back. The girl, 'Fee', chirped around in the background to herself, directing uncertainty toward them, Draco couldn't grasp her questions but the man's voice was solid and calm as he answered each one.

"They say they'll be here soon and that we're to find something to wrap around him like a blanket or a coat or something."

The man dropped his hand and rustled, Draco's troublesome curiosity niggled at him to peek at the happenings out there in the real world but any small movement was sure to punish him and his heart still tore at him. Soon enough a heavy drape settled over his torso and the hand returned.

After some time and some idle chatter the forest began to break and holler afresh.

"We're over here!" The chirpy thing chirped.

Draco felt a shuffle around him, the warm hand lifted away again and plastic fingers gripped his neck and pulled up his eyelids shining light there that made the dawn pale.

"Is this how you found him?"

"Yeah, we weren't sure if we should move him so we just tried to keep him warm and talk to him."

"Did he respond?"

"He squeezed my hand slightly."

"Right, we need to get him out of this. If you can hear me son, my name's Jim, I'm a paramedic. We've got to get you to the hospital, but to do that we've got to get you out of there. Just relax and we'll do the rest, you're in good hands."

"What's he doing half buried under a tree?" The girl asked.

"It's typical behaviour for victims of exposure, they try to nest when they sense the end." Jim answered.

"Oh god, what if we'd missed him? We were just out here looking for a good shot. We're," she stalled, "we're photography students. I saw a flash from the other side of the forest and I followed it thinking it was you, but you came from..."

"It wasn't me, I was up the other end," the low voice finished.

Draco felt hands worm their way under him and pull him free of the roots he'd made home, they lay him on his back and his heart cursed him. Raw pain cracked itself against his nerves, his eyes snapped open and this time his scream came, curdling the air until he had none left and could only gasp for it.

"What's your name son?"

His eyes spun in their sockets as four white faces stared down at him, two closer than the others, but each painted with concern.

"Heart," Draco clutched.

"Okay Mr Hart, we're going to move you again, onto a stretcher this time..."

* * *

_'Oh for god's sake not another one,'_ Draco thought as he took in the familiar hospital smell with a twitch of his nose. As he did he realised something wasn't right, he touched his hand to his face and found there was something taped there, leading into his nose, he went to pull at it only for two hands to wrap around his.

"Ah, Mr Hart, awake at last. I wouldn't touch that if I were you."

"Where am I?" He asked the plump silver haired healer at his bedside.

"Relax lovie, you're in the hospital. You gave us quite a scare you know, thought you might not wake up."

Draco tried to prop himself up but the thump in his head and the unexpected scraping sensation in his hand stopped him.

"Uh uh, not just yet, lie back now. Any pain?"

"Dizzy," he coughed. The thing in his nose seemed to travel down his throat and he fought the instinctive gag that accompanied that realisation.

"I'll get you something for that."

He watched as she fiddled around in a trolley positioned at the foot of his bed. She approached him carrying a strange plastic instrument with a needle sticking out of the end.

"What are you doing!"

"Relax lovie," she replied.

Draco watched in horror as he took his hand, there was a strange plug attached there, in fact, there were tubes and machines attached all over him. She pushed a strange liquid through the needle and into the strange thing on his hand and stepped away.

_'This must be a muggle hospital.'_

"The paramedics couldn't give us a first name for you, it seems you passed out a little after they got there."

He didn't answer at first, trying wildly to consider his situation. This could be his chance. This could be escape.

"Its Matthew," he answered finally.

She smiled warmly, "Okay Matthew, well you try to get some more rest now and I'll have the doctor come by and see you in a bit."

Days came and went in that place, as did the doctors with their chain gangs of hyperactive medical students.

He did everything he could think of to distract himself from thoughts of Harry: his new life was about making Harry proud, not wallowing in the memory of him. He read anything that came near him, talked to anyone passing by. In the whirr of tubes and beeps and bizarre muggle machines Draco found himself diverted from more complicated thoughts. He picked up the odd muggle jargon quite quickly. He learned for instance that healers here were called nurses, and that these magically challenged people were obsessed with something called TV. They watched it, spoke about it, wrote about it: everyone had one it seemed. His father would never look for him here in this curious sand trap he thought.

He charmed the nurses easily enough, and grew used to their penchant for waking him at all hours of the night to test the pressure of his blood, why ever that mattered... And when he was allowed to eat for himself again they always made sure he got extra custard with his cake. They did have an obsession with water though: forever lecturing him about it and how he needed to drink more of it...

The Doctors were tougher, far too serious for his liking, their chatter was all 'bacterial pneumonia' this, and 'septic shock' that. He tried weather it but he didn't care for being poked and prodded by their entourages, or discussed openly like a lab rat. He especially didn't like the way they spoke about frostbite and nerve damage and the possibility of lopping both his legs off at some point in the future - they weren't as funny as they thought they were and he told them so.

A few days in he'd received a visit from a peculiar woman with mousy hair and a purple clipboard.

"It's good to see you on the mend Matt, can I call you that?"

Draco nodded.

"Do you mind if I sit down?"

He indicated the visitors chair next to his bed.

"My name's Katelyn. I'm an outreach worker, and I work closely with the hospital for an organisation whose job it is to ensure that patients such as yourself receive... any additional support that they might need. Is it okay if we have a bit of a chat?"

He nodded again.

"Do you remember how you ended up in the woods Matt? Do you remember who you were with?"

Draco brought his hands together in his lap and stared down at them.

"I wasn't with anyone, I was running away."

"Can you tell me who you were running from?"

"My father, my prison, my life," he laughed without humour.

"Okay. That's okay. Is your father something you feel you can talk about right now?"

"No!"

"That's fine, I don't want you to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable."

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence before Katelyn pressed forward:

"Now Matt, something that I think it would be useful for us to achieve today is a plan to facilitate your ongoing recovery once you are released from hospital. I think it's important that we ensure you have a suitable environment to enable you to fully rehabilitate.

"Are you still speaking English?"

She laughed lightly, "Yes, definitely. What I mean to say is: do you have anywhere to go when you get out of here?"

"No, I'm alone now."

"The nurses said you mentioned someone once or twice, a... Harry. Is he a friend of yours?"

"My fiancé," Draco whispered.

"Okay. So would it be possible-"

"I can't stay with Harry. Harry's dead. He died a long time ago."

Her brown eyes softened, "I'm sorry for your loss."

He looked away from her, unable to bear the sympathy that he'd seen too many times before. She seemed to sense this and composed herself accordingly.

"Well there are various options for us to consider, and a few bits of paperwork for us to fill in, but you should get some more rest before we get into all that. Is it okay for me to stop by tomorrow?"

"I guess."

"Thank you. I'm going to leave you a few bits and pieces to read okay? There's some information about the various types of support available, and also some phone numbers that you might find helpful, just in case you find it easier to talk anonymously. If you ask one of the nurses they can find you a phone and somewhere private to use it."

Long after she left, Draco puzzled over her questions and they way she'd asked them. She'd seemed to imply... He didn't know what she was implying. He reached over to the leaflets she'd left: sombre notes on homelessness... alcoholism... domestic violence... sexual abuse... For once he wasn't interested in absorbing the new words, they were nothing to do with him. Apart from the homeless part he supposed.

He flexed his fists and saw the muscles shift in his forearms. As ill as he was he felt surprisingly healthy. Perhaps that wasn't the right word. He felt _clear, clean. _No more shadows, no more potions, no more voices in his head. As a child, magic had been all powerful: it could right any wrong, repair any damage, everything was possible with magic. Perhaps that was why he could never get better in that place: daily miracles to fuel his delusions. Magic, he decided, would grant him one final gift: his new identity in this big bad universe of muggles.

* * *

**A/N:**

**So... You're probably all spitting fire right about now... I'm sorry for that but it had to be done... I would say that this isn't the end of this story, so stick with me?**

x X x

'Rora


	17. Tangles

**Disclaimer: Thank you to the wonderful JK Rowling and her various lawyer types for letting me borrow the HP-verse for the duration of this story!**

* * *

"God, I think my neck's breaking Guys!"

"I swear this is a conspiracy to make me fit!"

A tall man in his early twenties slumped against the graffiti strewn stairway wall and adjusted the heavy box in his arms. He tried without success to blow the strands of mousy brown hair from his eyes and eventually gave up on them. He looked at his friends with some amusement: "Wimps, both of you! Come on, we must be nearly there. Draco, how many more flights? "

"Two, I think. Maybe we should have done this in two trips."

"Nonsense, we'll have a breather here and then we'll set off again and soon it will be done. That alright Asha?"

The girl sporting the near broken neck laughed with a light hint of delirium, indicating that she thought either her friend was crazy or she was, and she hadn't made up her mind as to which. Her strawberry blond hair waved in tangles down to her hips and various oddities had been scattered through it as always. Today there were flowers and multicoloured paperclips and vibrant strands of green material.

Scuffles and thuds descended from the stairs above and a broad shouldered man pushed past them without so much as a grunted apology.

The man with the mousy hair made a face at Draco that said_ 'friendly bunch aren't they'_, before jerking his head to indicate that they should move on.

"Don't ever say I'm not good to you Draco," Asha groaned, but her eyes smiled at him in encouragement.

"As if I would," he laughed as they trudged on. One flight. Two flights.

"This is us," Draco said as they came to a blue painted door. It was plain, slightly dirty, and looked like part of it had made an enemy of someone's boot.

Each of them checked the ground around their feet for signs of anything suspicious and dumped their assorted bags and boxes on the floor. They stared at the door with an odd sort of reverence. Draco bit his lip slightly, fighting the smile that had started to play there.

Asha was the first to break: she began to jump on the spot and a grin spread from one ear to the other, "I'm so excited!"

"Contain yourself Ash, it's embarrassing," Draco drawled.

"Oh come on Draco, get with the mood. I can tell you want to, look at that Asha, isn't that a tiny little smile?"

"You know Richard, I think it I-is," the strange girl taunted in a sing-song fashion.

Draco rolled his eyes.

Richard chastised him: "Come ON! Everything's falling into place Draco! You've got a steady job, you've sent your Uni application off. Today you're 'Matthew Hart - Superhero'. Today it's goodbye dingy homeless shelter, hello paradise!"

"Yup, paradise in the form of a rundown bedsit with possible signs of damp..."

Asha looked sceptical: "Hey, it can't be that bad sweetheart."

Draco stepped toward the door and turned the keys he'd been given when he'd signed the contract the day before. He pushed it open with his shoulder and took one last look at his friends, raising an eyebrow that clearly said: _'I warned you_'.

The three of them stepped inside and Draco flicked on the light. Their heads each swivelled around the small hallway. Three doors lead off of it and Draco pointed to each in turn:

"Bathroom, boiler cupboard, everything else."

Richard nodded, peering up at a rectangular box attached to the wall, squinting to read the small screen on the front of it.

"Your electric meter's in the emergency, we'll need to get that sorted."

"What does that mean?" Draco asked, his voice tinged with worry.

"It means your landlord's an arse for not showing a bit more courtesy, but there you go. Don't sweat it, it's nothing major, we just need to put enough money on the meter to get it out of the red and into enough credit to last you, an extra tenner should do it. We'll sort it later, okay?" Richard smiled his reassurance, "Shall we see the rest?"

Asha opened the door that Draco had labelled 'everything else', and they all wandered in.

"See what I mean?" Draco said.

"Okay, okay, so it's not 5-star, but it's a start," Asha made her way to the kitchenette area and started peering in the cupboards.

"Yeah, all it needs is a lick of paint, some personal touches, and..." Richard gave a comical look of disgust, "A sofa that doesn't have its very own thriving Eco-system... But this is good, you know? This is... Standing on your own two feet, making your own decisions, being free to fuck up and take your own lessons from it."

Draco nodded slowly, peering around at the discoloured walls and up at the hideous light fitting. He walked over to the large window and gazed out. They were too high up to see the road below without sticking a head out. He waved at the woman staring across at him from the window in the tenement block opposite his. She scowled and drew her blinds shut.

"Best view in all of Edinburgh I reckon," Richard laughed.

Draco smiled, "So... I guess this is what real life looks like..."

"Pretty much. How do you feel?"

Draco didn't answer at first. Asha rejoined them, putting an arm around each, and Draco was thankful that he wasn't alone.

"I feel... Like I can do this. I feel like I'm gonna be just fine."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy couldn't seem to function. It was nothing new, he'd felt this way since the day Draco left, but it didn't seem to get any easier. It had been near five months and nothing, not since that infuriating letter. His son's words seemed to brand themselves to his brain so that they jumped out at him without warning or order.

'_I can't come back, I'm sorry father...' _

'_I need to deal with losing Harry in my own way...' _

'_Don't come looking for me, I don't want to be found...'_

These sentiments echoed through him as a house elf reappeared at his side.

"I passed on your message Sir, but he is saying he'll wait on the doorstep until you changes your mind. He is thanking you for your luxurious doormat Sir."

"Impertinent brat! Fine, I'll deal with this myself."

He stalked through the manor with purpose and when he arrived at his front door he threw it open, snarling at his would-be guest. Almost as soon as he did a tin of shortbread was held out inches from his chest.

"First foot?" Lucius simply stared before regaining composure and directing his wand at the young man's face.

"Happy New Year to you too. Please don't point that thing at me, I'm not here to fight with you Lucius. We've done that, it didn't get either of us anywhere."

Lucius lowered his wand slowly.

"Are you really going to leave me out here or can I come in? It's bloody cold you know."

"Haven't you got better things to do than harass me?"

"Nope."

Lucius scowled but stepped aside, allowing his tormentor entry. He led them through to his drawing room and sat down. The other man followed suit.

"So what do you want?"

"To make peace," came the simple reply.

"I have no interest in making peace with you Potter. If it weren't for you-"

"Look," Harry held up his hands, "There was a time when I was just about ready to rip your throat out for what you did to Draco. For making him so fucked up in the head that he didn't know what was real anymore. For using him as some kind of cheap pawn to keep yourself out of Azkaban."

"How dare you!"

"Just shut up for a second okay! There are things that you blame me for too, and you're right: If I'd left well alone, if I'd had the decency to damn well stay dead then maybe Draco would have moved on, he could have had a happy, normal life. You have every right to hate me for that.

"But are we really all that different? In the end, in our own way I think all either of us wanted was to love him and protect him, and give him everything he needed to be happy."

Lucius glowered down at his hands which rested in his lap and thought about this.

"The prophet says you've been keeping a low profile lately."

"From that bunch of vultures?" Harry laughed, "Of course I am. I've been staying with the Weasley's, and it's been so heavily fortified that the press can't get within 500 feet."

"Shacked up with that lot it's no wonder you're sporting hand me down robes."

"These are new!"

"Do you always make a habit of buying clothes 3 sizes too big for you?"

Harry's expression became guarded, "They serve a purpose. Any further word from Draco?"

"No. I take it you haven't either."

"We've looked under every rock, stone, and bolder in the wizarding world, it's looking more and more certain that he's shunned it in favour of the muggle one."

"Wonderful." Lucius said without mirth.

"I promise you: I _will_ find him."

"How exactly? By running up and down the country violating people's memories."

"I have the forgiveness of each and every person I hurt when I first came back Lucius. I wasn't thinking rationally, I... all I could think about was Draco."

"Shame the rest of the wizarding world isn't quite as understanding."

"Don't you dare lecture me, Lucius! You were a fucking deatheater, or have you already forgotten? Unlike you, _I_ didn't kill anyone. I'm sorry that people were frightened, I'm sorry that _you_ were frightened, I'm sorry that Neville's been pulled along this horrible rollercoaster ride because the Auror Department just _assumed_ that his grandmother's death was connected to the whole thing, but I didn't intend for any of that to happen okay!

" And if the wizarding world is too thick to realise that they shouldn't be messing around with life and death then that's their problem. If they want to hate me for not divulging all the mysteries of the underworld then they can go right ahead, it's for their own good and frankly I couldn't care less."

"How noble of you."

"Look, I'm not doing this, I don't want an argument. I have to tell you something important so will you get off your high horse for five minutes and let me?"

Lucius nodded in curiosity at the outburst, "Go on."

Harry seemed to falter and began to pick at the hem of his robes.

"Well spit it out man!"

It was enough to steel his resolve and so Harry stood up. Slowly he unbuttoned his oversized robes and let them fall to the floor.

Lucius started forward but stopped in shock, "That's not possible."

"They said killing Voldemort would be impossible and I managed it. They said it was impossible to return from the underworld and I did that too."

"There hasn't been a case of wizard pregnancy in over 300 years."

Harry raised a wry eyebrow, "That's not actually true."

"I think you'll find-"

"Trust me, just because Dumbledore sweeps something under the rug like an inconvenient pile of dirt doesn't mean that it didn't happen," Harry retorted through gritted teeth.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it, it doesn't matter."

Harry made his way over to Lucius' chair. He took his wrist and used it to guide the other man's hand to his stomach.

"She's Draco's, mine and Draco's. She's your blood," Harry took a steadying breath before committing himself to what he said next: "And I want you to be a part of her life."

Lucius looked up at him, eyes cynical, "Is it money that you're after?"

"I have money, admittedly probably not as much as you, but I have more than enough."

"Then why would you want to involve me in this?"

"I think it's important that she knows where she came from and Draco's not here to teach her."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd have cared."

"Well I do."

"She kicked!"

"Yeah, the novelty wears off when it's kept you up until five in the morning for a fortnight."

Lucius didn't appear to have heard him, his mouth hung open in wonderment as he stared at the rounded stomach beneath his hand.

"I will say one thing: You did things in the war that make me want to physically vomit. My trust in you is thin. I do believe you cared for your son, so I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt in this matter alone. If you _ever_ do anything to break that trust I will kill you, and it will be twisted, and it will be slow."

"Spoken like a true father," Lucius locked eyes with him and smiled.

* * *

**A/N:**

**So, that's the last chapter. I hope you all liked it, please leave a review and let me know what you thought.**

**I want to say a massive thank you to the lovely Jade, who has been a massive support spurring me on for you all, and without whom this chapter would have been completely different.**

**I hope to see you all for the sequel, which will be called 'Bask in the Shadow'.**

**I'm off to read an interesting looking story called: 'Differences', by Torchwood9****7.**

**Thank you to everyone who has followed this story, I love you all!**

x X x

'Rora**  
**


	18. Notice

**A/N:**

**This is just a quick notice to those of you that still have this on your alert list. The first chapter of Bask in the Shadow, the sequel to this story, is up. You can find in under my profile :)**

**x X x**

**'Rora  
**


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